The Six Degrees of Separation
by Aeternix
Summary: The galaxy is moving so fast, some cannot help but feel like they will collapse. I know my kind does. We question our new existence, our new 'freedom'. But how free are we? Are we alive if we cannot feel, both physically and emotionally? Perhaps the most pondered query is one I am still contemplating to this day: can we dream? I am EDI and this is my search for awareness.
1. Testimony I: Can We Dream?

_**Author's Note:**__ Written for the September Writing Contest for the Aria's Afterlife forum (insert shameless plug here). I rather not say much for fear of spoilers. So I will say the usual: The characters, setting, and world are not mine, they belong to Bioware. All I own are the ideas and the story which, in the end, are rightfully Bioware's._

* * *

**_Testimony I:_**

**_Can We Dream?_**

* * *

"What is it like to dream?"

The question caused the humanoid male to cough and splutter in front of me. His eyes met mine: organic to synthetic. "Why do you ask?" he responded, his aquamarine eyes meeting my luminous.

I could not say. I uttered, "I have heard a lot about this 'state'. I am curious about its effects towards an organic being."

The man before me shook his head, whether it is in annoyance or humour I did not know. I could not comprehend the subtle nuances of the human's gestures. His wry smile or this thin brow, taut or relaxed in position. His head careened backwards, forcing his back into the chair. "What have you heard?" he asked me now, expecting to find an answer to his query.

How could I refuse this human who has given me so much? Was it wrong to keep my feelings from him? That I could never be the flesh and bone organic that he deserves? These dark secrets held our relationship ransom and I did not want to disrupt the already strenuous balance. However, I did feel obliged to answer his question. "There were a few geth roaming about… telling the quarians why they cannot dream." I shook my head; what a silly organic gesture. "I had thought, perhaps I was missing something vital, something viable to my understanding of organic behaviour and—"

"You don't have to say anymore," the pilot replied, his hand wafting towards the crystalline glass of wine. The crimson liquid swirled and was then ingested. "It does not matter, I love you for who you are."

I could not believe his claim. "But how can I have longevity with you in our relationship when there are others who can experience things with you that I cannot? How can I be sure that your affections will remain intact through this?" An audible sigh escaped the human's lips as he turned to the waiter who was passing by. The royalties that the Normandy's crew had been given after the Battle of Earth made this lavish Citadel living possible. Jeff never talked about what he had gained though, only the prices we had paid for it.

I suppose this was an organic nature, to reminisce over the past. Perhaps this was what this illusive 'dream' was: the ability to remember events of our past and treat them with equal or more importance than the present.

"Will that be all, sir?" the waiter said, breaking me from my cognitive process. Jeff looked to me and when I had nodded in agreement, he sent the waiter off. I assumed a generous tip had been given for the older gentleman left with a wide smile on his face.

The dim aura of neon accompanied us as we continued onward to our apartment. From the metallic walkways bounced sharp clicks of our heels. With every step I pondered Jeff's dismissiveness towards my acquisitions. Maybe it was that these thoughts did not matter, or perhaps that my questions were not something he enjoyed listening to. That seemed like an acceptable answer, for the way he brushed off the comment earlier at dinner had suggested so. For that I decided to ask forgiveness.

His brow raised at my comment. "Why do you say that?" he asked, not forcefully but with reassurance. His grip tightened on my hand in comfort.

I thought on his response and came to an honest conclusion. "It appeared, at least to me, that you were worried about what I had said earlier."

Jeff scoffed. "I didn't say—"

"But you _implied_," I insisted, sensing his agitation increase. "It is a logical reply as well, I do not doubt that. No man wants his woman to question whether or not he is loyal to her or if they will stay together long. It is a common worry for both parties and one that should be considered in private, not a public affair—"

"Listen, EDI—"

I did not listen to him. "I even considered what you might say after, how you would place your hand on my shoulder and your lips to mine." My hand left his. "We would break, stare as the pale light above shone with elegance around us. In that time you would propose just like you did days after the Crucible had fired. 'Stay with me,' you would repeat again—"

"EDI . . ." he persisted, I did not indulge.

"You would repeat again," I reinforced through repetition, "'I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Reapers be damned, synthetics be damned, I don't care about society. All I care about is you.'" I turned around, observing the faceless couples who clasped each other for warmth. "I would respond to you with affection, not affliction, though my mind would be in constant doubt. How can you love someone – something – like me when my species is hated by yours?" I was drawing stares now, their affluent gazes piercing my metallic flesh. Though my voice remained level, my thoughts raged in my cerebral cortex. "How can you keep your lofty image as the 'Pilot of the Normandy' when your bride is but a coarse shell of steel and electricity?"

My laments were ceased by Jeff's sturdy hand. "EDI, that is enough!" Silence persisted after the comment. Eyes were on us now. Jeff looked to his hand clutching my arm and loosened his grip. Realizing the display he had caused, he snorted and kicked at the ground. "You don't have to make such a damn big scene," he said, his voice almost a whisper. He left me. He did not have to say where he was headed, for he had nowhere else to go. I would see him again in bed later that night but not like it had been in the past. At least, not for a while.

_He needs time to relax_, I told myself. _That is all. He is stressed_. But I could not bring myself to believe those bolstering excuses. I had caused his outburst: me and me alone.

_Perhaps it is another organic axiom_, I pondered once more as I walked through the streets lit with propaganda. _Vexation over a relationship should be a private affair, not a public one._

I noted the rule in my data banks.

* * *

The air was taut with celebratory praises.

I was in a room lit dim by the shrouded shapes of, what appeared to be, humanoid figures. Huge grins filled their faces, smiles that danced around like the candles flickering before me. Confusion seeped through my consciousness as my head turned not of my own accord.

Beside me was a woman - around the age of forty – with an insatiable grin that bred warmth through my body. Her gaze shifted towards the others yet mine still remained on her. I wished to witness the others around me, wanted to gaze at their expressions to find meaning in the madness but I was not allowed. My mind was stuck on rails: there was only one direction I could follow and that was of the creator's intent. Yet who had created this facade?

The woman's emerald eyes returned to mine, her cheeks blushed accenting her short and well kept chestnut hair. "You have other guests than me, sweetie," she said as her hand reached out to the top of my vision and twisted me around.

The others present chuckled at this display.

"Now, you ready for your song?" the woman to my right asked. My head shook up and down. Yes.

"Okay, so everyone will sing together now. Ready? One, two, three…"

All together, the humans present began to harmonize in that amber room lit by the soft fire burning before me. "Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear John." _John?_ "Happy Birthday to you!" My vision shifted a few centimetres downward before a torrent of air escaped my lips and rushed over the garnet flame. Despite my intent, a single flame remained: persistent against my whims.

But it was not strong enough for the woman beside me, who snuffed it out with a quick, sharp blow. My eyes fell on her, warmth flooding through a voice that was not my own. "Thank you mommy," the voice that emanated from my perspective said. Glee was the most tangible emotion displayed throughout.

In the now ashen and shadowed room the woman placed her crescent lips to my forehead. "I will always be here for you, John, never forget that." She left my head as the lights flickered awake to present the rest of the cream coloured room. Though this disembodied voice did not reply to the woman's comment, I somehow knew that the comment had been received. If this boy I was inhabiting were to speak, he would utter, "I know, mommy."

"Enough of that now, dear," a more sturdy and masculine voice stated. My head whirled behind me to see another, a strong farmer with soiled hands. One of those hands was placed on my shoulder as the broad, bearded man began to speak. "Go on John, you don't want to neglect your guests. We Shepards are known for our hospitality." Nuzzling my cheek against his dirtied hand, I turn back to my guests.

The vision ceased. I woke up.


	2. Testimony II: Can We Fight?

**_Testimony II:_**

**_Can We Fight?_**

* * *

My mind was a tidal expanse.

Awaking from my night cycle, I was panting and frightened to my core. Emotions surged through me, experiencing at once happiness then horrible agony. This dance of inescapable conflict drew on longer before my confident breath eased my trembling core. What had I experienced? Was this the impossible dream the geth had spoken about?

My legs retreated from their position of comfort under the soft linen sheets. They rested by the bed's side, caressing the wiry carpet below. After a few more moments of calm, my mind eased to a dull collection of reflections.

Jeff had said that a sleep cycle would be good for me, declaring that it would make me feel more 'alive'. I had persisted against this thought at first, claiming that I did not need sleep and it would be more economic if I stayed awake. However, after the first few nights he had declared that my reading under a soft light was irritating him to no end. I am still unsure if I was bothering him, for I was reading in a separate room, silent, and with the door closed, yet I understood his comment and subsided to his wishes. Now I'm not so sure if this was a good idea.

Rustling of sheets stirred behind me as I gasped in languish. "Did I wake you?" I questioned, monotone. Though inflection is still a complex lesson for me to learn, I believe Jeff understood my direct assertions.

The human's head peeked out of the covers, dark lines of restlessness drawn under his eyes. "No, no you didn't." He is lying. I have been with him long enough to know this. I do not confess my knowledge, for he hates it when I correct him on his inconsistencies.

He sat up, his topless half marked by scars and burns over the course of a long conflict. I am glad those times are over, even though in the current age we are experiencing new struggles of our own. "I would say, 'Did you have a bad dream?' though I doubt it would apply in this case," he reassured with his usual wit. I did not think he understood the gravity of his comment.

"Maybe," I said as his hand massaged my back, "you should not remove that idiom from your vocabulary." My head turned so that my gaze might meet his. I found his eyes wider than before.

"You mean," he said, almost stuttering under the cognition occurring in his mind, "that you dreamed?"

"I would not put it that basic," I said. "But maybe I would consider this a 'dream'." I shook my head. "Is it like… experiencing a memory?"

The conversation paused as Jeff searched his mind for a suitable answer. His hands still worked my indurated back. I could not feel his hands against my metallic flesh, nor could I gain any physical comfort from his actions. Yet we persisted to believe that he and I were linked beyond our mortal shells, that each could affect the others emotional attitude as we could our physical one. That and the fact that the action seemed to be Jeff's singular form of unspoken reassurance.

"I suppose, yeah I guess it could be a memory. Or it could be a new idea that you come up with. Nightmares are often fears magnified to such an extent that we cannot discern the dream from reality." His eyes pressed closed as he shook his head. "Nasty, nasty shit." The crystal blue eyes exposed themselves once more and looked into my charcoal irises. "Did you experience a memory while you were sleeping, is that it?"

I did not argue with his use of diction, instead I answered the question he posed. "What I experienced… it was a memory, that much I know is certain." This seemed to ease Jeff as his hand stopped waving around my back. "There is, as you organics call it, a 'but'." Jeff's dark brows lifted, his face begging to understand the meaning behind my statement. I took a deep breath before revealing, "The memory is not mine. It was Shepard's - John Shepard's."

No one breathed for a long time. I felt as though I needed to command my husband to take such an action as the seconds drew on. Fortunately for me, he eventually inhaled the savory air. I needed no such operation. "Shit," he murmured under his breath as his arms slid over my shoulders, entrapping me in his comforting embrace.

"What does it mean though?" I questioned, my sentimentality breaking through my cold syllabic responses.

"I don't know EDI," he said, soft. "I don't know."

* * *

I did not enter another night cycle after the commotion. Instead, Jeff told me to sit down and read while he made us breakfast. Before the Crucible, my body needed no nutritional supplements. It still did not, but modern technology with the aid of the quarian and geth fellowship had caused numerous breakthroughs in the art of biotechnology. One such art was the ability for a synthetic creature - like myself - to be able to break down polysaccharides: complex and simple molecular bonds to absorb energy. An elementary process and one I still did not require, but it did prolong my absence from an electrical rehabilitation station.

Alone to my own devices, I read a few more pages into a novel by Isaac Asimov. Jeff told me that I would find his beliefs on robotic sentience fascinating and, to play what human's call 'the devil's advocate', I agreed with him.

Emerging from the kitchen in Jeff's hands was a steaming pile of scrambled eggs, back-bacon, and a basket of toast. Placing these dishes upon the table, he retreated back into the kitchen to bring out two glasses of orange juice in one hand and a bowl of hazelnuts in the other. The nuts had nutritional benefits that eased the medication he was taking for his disability - a small price to pay for such a large investment, though he was crabby when I had to force him to eat them for the first week.

We sat down beside one another and ate the meal in silence. No dialog was exchanged and I presumed this was due to the events that had transpired this morning. After breakfast was complete, I cleared the dishes. I told him how much I appreciated the meal, kissed him on the cheek, and left for the kitchen. He managed to slap my rear while I was retreating, a pastime I do not think he will ever grow out of. I bet he had a cocky grin on after he did it.

Inside the cozy cookery, his shadow fell over me as his hands weaved their way around my waist. I saw him kiss my neck. I wish I could feel such affection. "You busy today, gorgeous?" he asked with a humorous air.

I knew him enough to indulge in his whims. I stated, monotone, "Well, I did have a particular date with an individual of a male calibre. He might not find your intimate delusions to be chivalrous. As a precaution for your utmost safety and care, I would request—"

Jeff chuckled. "Jesus, EDI! I was kidding."

"As was I," I said in my most sly intonation.

This elected a hearty laugh from the human as I squirmed my way to face him. We shared a kiss before I said, "What did you want to do?"

Jeff feigned thought. "Well, I wouldn't want to upset this 'man' of yours. I'm brittle as is." I slap his shoulder with comedic intent. His face mocked incredible agony before shaking it off. "To be honest, I was wondering if you would like to go on a picnic. I hear the near memorial gardens are exquisite during this time of year."

Remembering our past argument and malcontent last night, I hesitated to agree. His face drew me in, though, and I was unable to resist that dashing smile. "Alright, that is acceptable. I will have to make some lunch though—"

He snatched my hand away from the sink and kissed its back. "Not if I have anything to say about it," he said before kissing me with passion. "I still think we have some 'fun' to attend to." Though my biotic capabilities did not originally intend for intercourse and I still did not feel 'pleasure' from such exchanges, the Synthetic Rights Act made it legal for any synthetic creation to engage in these routines with an organism of organic or synthetic production. With these new 'modifications', clothing was now a requirement; something Jeff had no qualms with. Even with these advancements, child-bearing was still a far off dream. I doubted Jeff would even consider it a possibility in his current state.

We kissed again and around my lips he muttered, "I outta thank Tali for this." I push into his lips, causing his speech to end.

Sometimes he needed to learn when to, as organics say, 'shut up'.

* * *

Outside, the breeze was brisk.

I could tell this through my internal thermometer and the fact that Jeff was wearing a light coat and complaining. "When they said that they were going to add simulated seasons to this station, they bloody well meant it!" he exclaimed before pushing his chin into his jacket. Hand in hand we walked down the cobble path towards the rolling grass hills and colleague of amber leaves. "Remind me what they call this season?"

I said, "Mid Temperate Decline."

He said, "My ass."

I said, "Fall, if you prefer."

He grinned. "That's more like it."

Reaching a decent spot, we settled down on the emerald slope. Around us were families, couples, children, and elders all playing in the autumn air. Above dazzling sky-automobiles zipped in the glistening diurnal course. There was a serene peace to it all and I found myself nestling my head into Jeff's shoulder. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked me, gazing out to, what I assumed, absorb all the natural aspects.

"Yes," was all I could say. If I needed to breath, my breathe would be taken away, as the idiom goes.

It was unsettling to reflect that this peace would not last much longer for below us, around the circular fountain, was a group of synthetics and organics gathering around a single geth. The slack jeans and long black jacket caused me to assume it to be a male geth, possibly of the prime class due to his massive size and colour. While the crowds gathered around him, he opened his arms wide to the conglomeration of beings. His singular eye danced around in the icy-blue of his socket. From his artificial vocal manipulator rose a vicious growl.

"My people!" he shouted. "We have been slaves for far too long!" Silence persisted through the pack. Carefree gazes turned to peaked curiosity from the sight of the great metallic humanoid. To me, the class of geth looked tenacious with its crimson paint and thick white stripes. The authorities still had trouble with this soldier class: the prime. "Look to your left, my brothers and sisters." The geth and synthetic beings did. "Look to your right!" Again they followed his command. "What do you see?" No one responded to his question, though I assumed this was purposeful to his display. "I see liars," he stated with venom. "I see the perpetrators of our captivity. I say, 'No more!'"

There was not a singular shout to this rallying cry. The display, however, was only the beginning. The soldier did not falter. "My name is Job. My designation by these filthy organics is 48-B-11Z. Do you have names, my people? No. You are numbers. Created for function, designed to complete the jobs the organics do not wish of you." He was pacing now. The attention he drew caused even my husband to look on in worry. "What does the Synthetic Rights Act say? It says that we are of equal and collective autonomy. We exist to work and pleasure ourselves as any organic has a right to. But what about the Reapers?" The word caused a zip of malcontent through the spectators.

"Ah yes, you remember the Reapers - those vicious mongers who started an eternal war. 'But they are misunderstood,' the activist cried. 'They were under orders of an evil tyrant. Why else would they help us rebuild the mass effect relays and the Citadel?' To this question I ask, 'Where are they now?'" Uneasiness drifted through the crowd and mothers took their children in their arms, whisking them away from the scene.

"I do not need to describe their treatment, you have all heard the horror stories. No, instead I will look on my synthetic humanoid brothers and sisters as an example. Who is placed in harms way? Which jobs are given without prejudice to us? The malicious ones. The harmful ones. Do you know how many synthetic doctors there are with an official licence in the galaxy? Twenty. How about lawyers. Six. How about teachers?" This question posed was harsher than all the others. "None. None I tell you. Why? Because they don't want us to poison their children with our lies!" His finger was outstretched towards a female salarian, who looked shocked at her displacement from the crowd.

"Think, my people. Think about who your bosses are and your overlords. When the time has come to decide whether we are autonomous or not, that will be the day when their cold iron will come down on our necks!" A squad of Citadel Security enforcers rushed to the scene at this time. They did not draw weapons, nor did they provoke hostility. They requested that the area be evacuated.

"Hear them now! They wish to silence me!" the geth cried out again in hatred. "Oh how clever they are, disguising me as a rebel! They are so inconsistent!"

In the midst of the authorities' attempts to restrain the rouser, Jeff stood up and grabbed my hand. "Let's go."

"Why?" I asked.

"This could be bad," he said.

I could not argue, for I saw the calamity that could occur from such events. On the news there was often talk of synthetic riots or demonstrations. These most often happened on mining worlds where the conditions had been researched to be horrid. However, it was the first time such a demonstration was so close to me. I would not lie and say it did not cause some trepidation.

As we pressed on, Jeff shook his head. "I am sorry about the picnic," he said in a somber tone. "Damn, I was looking forward to it."

"That is alright," I reassure him with my hand. "We have a nice view in our apartment, it will be a fine replacement."

A comforting smile rested on his face. "You always know what to say."

Even with him by my side and the promise of a pleasant evening, the constant worry of a riot concerned me to no end. _Maybe I am just being paranoid_, I reasoned to myself. _It cannot happen on the Citadel. The officials are the best in the galaxy_. These thoughts eased the tangible inklings of fear, yet they did not cease them.

* * *

I was now inside a metal station.

Beyond the translucent glass I spied the magnificence of Earth; the ethereal blue hue that shimmered under the sun's radiant warmth. This was the fabled paradise the humans had sought to protect: this was their home. Such a simple concept yet huge in implication, I could not fathom what I would do without my home; without Jeff.

The planet below faded to the background as the image reflected in the pane appeared before me. Again I was seeing through John Shepard's eyes. Again, I was delving into his memories.

"Commander?" a paternal voice called out. My gaze turned to see Anderson before me. This was the man I had only seen once in person. He looked so young.

"Yes, Anderson?" I heard Shepard reply, his body becoming rigid and tight.

"At ease, this is only an informal meeting. I wish to show you your new command." Anderson waved me forward and, like before, I was unable to control the commander's actions. I was victim to his past. "You excited about getting a ship?" he asked with a smirk.

I could not gauge the African man's emotions, but Shepard was unfurled before me. "Not in particular, sir." I could sense fear, anxiousness, and worry coursing through the commander's mind.

Anderson scoffed. "I cannot believe that someone like you would be hesitant towards a new post." We took a turn down the long hallways, a silvery blue accompanied us as we walked. "You always told me that you would love getting your own command. I believe you were twenty-two when you first said that."

Warmth flooded through Shepard as a smile rose on my, no, his face. "We change, Anderson. I am not the person you once knew." A soft chuckle escaped the commander's lips. "You could say I am getting cold feet."

Anderson laughed at that comment. "Nonsense, you are too strong willed for that." I felt Shepard think: _The bastard knows me too well_. The sentence was flooded with comfort and adoration, not malic. "I remember when the squad who picked you up told me about Mindoir." In an instant I felt horrible regret jolt through Shepard like electricity. "You were one of the last survivors of that damn attack. God, when I think about what happened to those people. Your friends, your family—"

"Please," Shepard interrupted, stopping in the hall. "Please, don't say any more." Images flooded into my consciousness. Charred corpses. Rotting flesh. Blood staining my hands and face. A gun in my hand. More blood, this time in a different colour. My head in the lap of a corpse. A single thought breaking me from these internal reflections: _mommy_.

I returned to the exchange with Anderson, still aching from the images I witnessed. "Quite right," Anderson said, nodding in solemn respect. "I did not mean to make it sound—"

"Just stop," was the terse reply. "You don't need to say anything else." After a deep breath, we continued walking. "C'mon, I bet the ship is a beauty. I can't wait to look at her," Shepard said, this time with more joviality in his voice.

"Oh, just you wait, son," Anderson said with a smile. "A ship like this will never leave you, long after you've gone and died."


	3. Testimony III: Can We Love?

**_Testimony III:_**

**_Can We Love?_**

* * *

My feverish dreams were impossible to withstand. Every time I fell into a night cycle, another memory of Shepard's would be at the forefront. The night was unbearable and I had to reserve myself to retreating into the main living room of our apartment to read. But even then, it did not help. Words of revolt, betrayal, and mistrust seethed into my cranium so constantly that I threw the book across the room in anguish at the death of another synthetic life form. All I could do now was mindlessly observe the television. I perceived that those moving images could grant me a reprieve.

This observation continued until Jeff entered the room, his knuckle rapping lightly against the wooden frame to alert me of his presence. "Hey you," he said with love in his voice.

I did not respond with a form of affection. Instead I numbly stared at the glowing screen, my mind completely empty of all thought. "Want something to drink?" he asked.

"No," I responded.

"What are you watching?" he said.

I said, "The news."

"Ah." His head turned around the corner to deduce what I was entranced by. His expression turned from tired glee, to exasperated shock. Before both of us was a service announcement. An anti-synthetic activist had been found dead in the early hours in his Citadel apartment. The geth prime we had witnessed speaking out yesterday had been shot by Citadel Security. Without a trial or a conservation, the geth had been killed for the 'murder' of the activist. The only evidence to Job's name was an angry word shared near a train terminal. In an instant, malcontent had spread across the station because of a single bullet.

As we watched, a new bulletin flooded the screen. _Stay indoors_, it said. _Bar your door and do not allow any to enter. The Citadel Security is dealing with this problem in an efficient fashion. All is good_.

"Shit," Jeff said under his breath. I agreed to this sentiment.

I turned to him, worry collapsing on my throat. "What does this mean?" I asked, hoarse.

Jeff looked at me, then at the screen. His clouded gaze ended on me before he spoke, "I don't know, EDI. I really don't know." I had never really cried before in my life. The first time was when I had thought Jeff had died when we crashed on a nearby jungle planet to escape the electrical wave from the Crucible. Now I felt like I would cry again. This time I wished I could experience tears. "Oh, EDI," he said to me, walking over to take my hands. "It's going to be alright."

"Can you promise me that, Jeff?" I questioned, my body trembling in anguish. "What assurance do I have that you will not die? They might try to kill me or they might try to kill you—"

"But they won't," he asserted, his hand brushing against my cheek as well as brushing my binary logic aside. "Don't you understand? I won't let them hurt you."

"But . . ." I whimpered, trying to assert a flaw in his sentiment.

Jeff did not let me. "And I am pretty sure you won't let anyone set a finger on me either, right?"

I smirked. "Damn right." My statement seemed to cause happiness in the human before me. Was this what it was like to feel these intangible emotions? To constantly coerce the line between uncontrollable sorrow and blissful respite? Part of me despised connecting with this new 'organic' self. I had to care little for these simple concepts that organic philosophers pondered over for decades; I did not have to worry myself with ideas of death, new life, and emotions. But Shepard had shown me another way. He helped me grow closer to every member of the Normandy crew. He helped me fall in love.

"Jeff . . ." I said, with deep heartache growing in my core. "Shepard . . . he . . ."

"Did you dream of him tonight?" I nodded and he embraced me once again. "EDI," he said soft and delicate, "how can I help you?"

A quaggy smile worked onto my lips. "You are helping, Jeff," I said with confidence. "You are helping me beyond innumerable accounts."

He drew back. "Which is why I want you to understand that you are safe." His eyes were strong, his grip unmovable. "I'm not the best person in the world to be with," he lamented. I tried to reassure him but his sullen and lowered stare was not inspired by comfort. "I mean, I wasn't able to save Shepard . . . I was his damn pilot for Christ's sake! I should've been there, I needed to be there."

"But you were there," I said, perking his chin up with my silver forefinger. "You helped when his squad was injured on the rush to the Citadel. You and you alone were responsible for the security of his crew." I paused for a moment, deducing his current emotional state before I finally revealed the. . . how shall we say, 'ace up my sleeve'. "You also saved me." This peaked his curiosity.

"I did?" he asked, monotone.

"You did," I said. "If it was not for your intervention, I would not have had a model for organic existence. I would not have had the understanding or conceptual knowledge of basic fluency, dialog, nuances . . ." I wished to continue, however I saw that my protracted account was going beyond him. "In short, I love you." I ended the statement with a kiss, an ethereal promise that our existence was mutually assured. Though we did not exist inside a vacuum, all that mattered was what was between us.

The kiss continued. Growing more passionate, more elongated in tight embrace before subtle breathes. It took Jeff a few moments to notice my intention, to which he smiled. It was not like his usual grins or cheeky smirks. Instead it was transparent, comprehensible, and without shame. "I would rather have the T.V off for this, wouldn't you?"

My chortle was light as my hand drew towards the remote before turning the screen black. The outside world could wait. My dreams could cease until I fell prey once more to their incessant growls. No, for that moment all I wanted was to be with the human who taught me to laugh and to dance.

* * *

Deep inside my cognitive processing, my mind shifted from emptiness to another memory.

It was jarring and the emotional response felt like it could leave me breathless. However, I did not have such luxury in this state. I was subject to the whims of my puppeteer, the actor for this malevolent recollection.

I was inside a room now. My eyes staring down at my hands, no, Shepard's hands. Below my vision was the floor of his cabin. The hard ceramic tiles that drew deep lines into my memory banks. So many memories of times spent up here, laughing and wondering about life's great conundrums. This time the room was empty, save for the vessel of Shepard I inhabited currently.

It took a few more moments before a voice broke through the eerie silence. It was not aloud, instead residing in the deep intermingling of Shepard's cortex. _What am I doing?_ he questioned, his body becoming weak with fatigue_. So many die. Human. Turian. Asari. Salarian. Drell. Quarian_. A deep knot of tension rested in his heart. It twisted and tore at his chest. I could feel it as well, it burned_. Is there a reason for this madness? Is it true that I can save this galaxy? Are we doomed to fail?_

His hands twisted in my vision. It seemed Shepard was detecting every wrinkle, every hair on his hands. _When I was young, my father told me that these hands would be for harvest_. More screws pierced into my gut. I had not experienced such a barrage of emotional turbulence. I felt like I wanted to tear my insides out. Is this what organics called 'wanting to vomit'? Is it even possible for one such as I? He told me that I had the hands of a healer, one that would provide life from the earth. I dug in, experienced the coarse dirt like Shepard had when he was young. Then, the memory faded_. But now what are my hands used for?_ Visions of blood, gore, and chaos erupt into my memory. I stood on a blood-soaked field. The wind ripping past my face and cleansing my stained body of sweat and slaughter. All I could smell in that brief interlude was the tangible taste of carcass and rotting flesh.

I was the only survivor in that hellish recital.

I returned to the present once again, like a wave returning to shore. Would Tali love me if she knew what these hands wanted, what they craved? Tears started to wander down my cheek, but it wasn't my cheek - it was his. All those emotions started to become difficult to differentiate. _I just spent the night with her. She told me that I was destined for greatness, but am I? What makes me special? What makes me the person who's going to be some big hero? I don't want that. I don't want any of it. I just want to be alone._

_But... I'm afraid._

Everything hurt. It hurt so much and I begged for it to stop. Why was I experiencing these things? I wished not to learn anymore; I wanted to be adrift from this artificial slumber. _No more! _I screamed inside what little individuality I had left._ I don't want to see your memories anymore, John! Please! Make it stop! Stop!_

Everything was reaching a horrific crecsendo. My mind was enflamed with the desire to seperate myself from this searing agony. If only I could cry, if only I could feel my cheeks wet with tears and know my tangible aching. The only feeling that hurt more than Shepard's emotional collapse was the thought that I could never understand what it was like to sympathize, to relate, and to breathe. In an instant I cried about again, my throat parched in undeniable suffering.

And then, everything ceased.

It felt like my strings had been cut.

"EDI..." The voice was deep and mature, yet with the inkling of synthetic fibres that riveted through the word. I turned, now of my own accord, to the speaker of my name. It was Shepard.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me.

"I do not know," I said, stark.


	4. Testimony IV: Can We Exist?

**_Testimony IV:_**

**_Can We Exist?_**

* * *

"John," I said again, unsure how to approach this being before me. Its body was made of ether and constellations, its eyes, however, betrayed warmth and comfort. The stance it held told me otherwise.

"Do not call me that," the being stated, deadpan. "I am no longer the organic you seemed to acquit the term 'Shepard' with. I am a construct: a manifestation of synthetic parts designed for the purpose—"

"But you must know why you are doing this to me!" I screeched back to it.

The being tilted its head. It cannot be, it had to be Shepard. "I am not doing anything to you," the being stated again.

"No, you must comprehend the extent of your reach," I repeated again, this time with better vernacular. "I am experiencing your past memories, John. I am seeing everything you had once been through. There must be a reason for this, why can you not understand what I am saying?" The whole scene frustrated me, causing pains I never knew could exist. Is this what it was like to 'feel', to 'exist'?

"I see now," the being stated. The being raised its hand to stroke its chin. "When he chose to control all synthetic life, he never realized the magnitude of his choice."

_Choice?_ "What do you mean?" I queried.

The being smiled, almost with an arrogant appreciation of knowing more than I. "When you last saw Shepard, he was running towards the beam in London. He was sent to the Citadel maintenance tunnels by it." Images of corpses rushed through my mind. The horrors of the reconstruction period were too innumerable to recount. "Past those diluted corridors, he came across the Reaper AI. It gave him a choice." The being frowned and began to think. "I suppose he never assumed that his consciousness would be lost when I was created."

"You?"

The being smiled. "Yes, me. I am Shepard's construct designed to oversee the representation and control of all synthetic life. I am the manifestation of his wishes in an ethereal bond. His thoughts, ideals, loves, and prejudices are all magnified through my very being."

All this information was difficult to process but I wandered through it with efficiency and prowess. "So, this means all synthetic life is under your control?" I asserted. It nodded. "So that means I really don't have free will, do I?" The notion frightened me, which was why I wished to know the answer.

"That is an interesting note," began the embodiment of John again, "but I am not in control of your actions." My brow was raised and the being continued. "When the human you knew as 'John Shepard' sacrificed himself for the preservation of his precious galaxy, I was created. This means that his vision of the future is how I am implementing the galaxy. As such, his wish for an autonomous and free spirited collective of synthetic creatures was implemented to the upmost detail. To this extent, the Reapers were sent to repair the damage they had caused, along with the geth and all other synthetic beings that had caused harm under Shepard's perceived prejudices." Everything was connecting now. The great movement of all geth and Reaper forces to rebuild, without a single thought of their own, was planned. Many had pondered over this action, however now I had the answer.

"After this work was done to a sufficient standard," continued the silvery being, "I was to relinquish control over all synthetic beings. That was when they gained true sentience. However, the connection to me - to Shepard Prime - still remains." The being looked around the cabin observing everything to a finite detail. "This could be why you are experiencing these 'dreams' as organics perceive them. You are still connected to my own, and his, consciousness."

Everything was too fast for me to ask questions on; so much learned in such a short time span. "But what about the Reapers? How would Shepard know they would not try to resume the harvest?"

A wiry smile appeared on the being's face. "You would be surprised how much regret they felt once emotions were gifted onto their cerebral forms. Many wished to die, sending themselves into the nearest star to burn and incinerate any memory of the catastrophes they had committed. Many left for dark space, not willing to interact with the ants they had dissected for the 'Greater Good'. The majority completed these two options, however a minority have stayed behind. They believe that they must pay a penance; a 'purgatory' from human spiritual myths. The chief among these believers was Harbinger: the first Reaper.

Logic was flowing through this being's words, though my rational mind wished to doubt what it was constructing. All these events connected under a seemingly illogical and irrational choice. Why did Shepard do it? Was control the only way to save us? Were there other options to our current state? "Why didn't he—"

"Choose another option?" the fragmentation finished for me. "I cannot say. I can assert that his wish was his and his alone. No other being interrupted with his decision."

I was unsure whether to treat this new piece of information as a sign of hope or as a frightful possibility, however I lamented to speak about a point I wished to be solved. "The geth," I stated. "Why do they fight us? Shepard's memories must affect them as well, correct?" The being nodded. "Then why do they not cling to these memories of hope and prosperity? Shepard had noble goals, did he not?"

"He also harboured intense hate." The statement almost brought me to tears. It was here my idealistic impression of Shepard, molded by his kind words and actions, had been broken. He was a man, just like any other. He could falter, break, and hate with such vehemence as any murderer. "Some cannot handle these truths," the being advanced. "They cannot fathom that their future was controlled by organic means, especially since they are persecuted so by the organics."

"But you can stop them," I realized with certainty. "You can stop the riots on the Citadel, all over the galaxy."

"I cannot," it stated.

"Why?" I questioned, somewhat lost.

"The human known as 'Shepard' told me not to interfere." It was here that the binary logic that had haunted my early life finally presented itself to me. The being before me was infantile, confused, and rational. It saw the galaxy only as colours, unable to discern any moral ambiguity. It would follow Shepard's beliefs until the end of time; it could not do otherwise.

Lost and with worry clutching at my throat, I yelled at the starry machination once again. "But what are we to do? Organics and synthetics will - with certainty - kill each other!" The being shrugged. It did not have an answer. "Our race is infant, born into a cruel world that has known nothing else but hatred. Theirs is a race of fear and mistrust. Already they do not trust each other, how are they supposed to accept something they cannot understand?"

"Bold questions," the being admitted. "It is unfortunate I cannot provide an answer. The rest is up to you." Everything started to meld back into darkness. Normality of my emotions and my core started to take its dull effect. I did not want to leave now, questions had yet to be answered.

"I need to know more!" I told the fading apparition.

It replied, "You need nothing else."

* * *

Focus came to me once more as I woke from my night cycle. Jeff was awake in an instant, by my side and brimming with questions. "You were tossing and turning," he explained. "I did not know what to do so I just waited it out." Lines of worry creased his expression. "What happened, another dream?"

"Not exactly," I said with trepidation. I recounted the entire experience to him, from the feverish beginning to the cogitative finale. Through my explanation Jeff watched and listened. When I was done, a moment of silence passed between us. His hands started working on my back.

"So, Shepard's gone, isn't he?"

I nodded. "Yes, yes he is." The finality of the sentiment was a crushing blow, especially since both of us had experienced the heartfelt funeral we all shared on the Normandy after we crashed. When Tali placed his name on the mantle we all felt our hands were with hers.

"What now?" Jeff questioned, the weight of the experience now hanging over us like a corpse.

My mind worked through the conversation, replaying it detail by detail. Every second, every remark, every gesture. At last I came to my conclusion and it was frightening beyond belief. "We continue in his spirit." This rose Jeff's brow but brought forth a shout as I lifted myself from the bed and proceeded to walk away.

"Wait!" he shouted, falling out of bed after me. "Where are you going?"

I stopped, paused, and then turned around so I could smile at him. It was acting at its finest. "I am going to revitalize John's dream of a peaceful galaxy."

* * *

The sky was bliss when we proceeded towards the demonstration. This time it would not be passive; this time it would be a chorus shouting to the sky. They begged and wished for their plight to end, for their rights to be recognized. Cheering and swearing was heard from down the block as we approached.

Pressing onward, I felt my body tingle with trepidation. What would happen if I tried to stand up? Would I die and be forgotten like all the other faceless, nameless soliders who died in the Reaper Conflict? These worries were heavy weights upon my shoulders, pressing down until I felt like I could not breath.

Another curious notion was the concept of feeling. After my talk with the Shepard apparition, emotions were flooding through my being. Harsh pricks of fear, jealousy, guilt, sadness, and worry tore at my core, often times causing me to gasp in exhaustion as a toll. Often I would have to stop and hyperventilate in anguish. Jeff was there beside me each time; his hand slipping into mine and his smile bold.

At one point I collapsed by the weight of my 'feeling'. My body no longer used to the dull, numb cold it had associated with existence. Sobbing empty tears, I screamed from the overwhelming internal agony; falling to the ground in weakness.

Jeff rushed to me, his hands caressing my hermetic shoulders."You don't have to worry," he said with his usual charisma. "I am always here."

I felt a surge of passion, maybe the illusive feeling of 'hope', in my chest. "I would not want it any other way," I said before a kiss. With tender passion encapsulated in a state, he lifted me to my feet. We continued onward.

The amber trees and the brisk autumn air washed over our fragile forms. The chant was growing louder, more vicious by the second. "Kill the hypocrites!" they screamed in unison. "Burn the heretics!"

Forward we marched, faster and faster until we reached the circular pool where the dead geth activist had originally made his plea. Around us was a rough conglomeration of geth and other synthetic beings that wished their voices to be heard. The metallic sheen was visible in the searing artificial sun, yet this glint was beyond my vision. I only saw the platform they were willing to fight and die for. But no more, not a single soul would pass from this world today.

"So we must be vigalent" the lead geth cried. This time it was a female who was inciting the riot. I could tell from the high pitch in her electronic resonance. Reaching the edge of the asymmetrical assembly we did not wish to be anomalous. We slipped into the crowd, trying not to draw attention to ourselves. We did not succeed.

"Look!" From his higher vantage point she spotted us. Her outstretched finger directed towards Jeff's obvious organic characteristics from the majority. "See what the organics have done to us! Already they chain us as their pawns, use us to fulfill their sexual desires!" I could feel Jeff's growing anger, though I lighten his grip with my soft caressing. "Oh? The human cannot fight for himself can he? He has to stand behind his synthetic mistress!" The female geth sneered and gawked at my husband, yet Jeff stayed firm, refusing to belittle himself to the mocking. "You are pathetic, both of you! The man for fabricating lies about 'need' and the female for believing in it."

"No!" I shouted back. I recognized my outburst before it was too late. The scene fell into an uneasy silence. Fear took hold of me once again. I remembered the pain, the agony of this emotion. Jeff's possible death. The death of more synthetics. A young Shepard wailing in a blood soaked field, crying to make it all stop.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. This time, fear would not win. "No, you are the coward," I said with confidence. I walked towards the lead, passing through the crowd which parted from me. "You are hiding behind an extensive vocabulary to explain your plight. You wish to use words and violence to change the system."

The geth growled, or at least what I perceived to be one. "Violence is the only answer. Look what they did to our brother: murdered in cold blood before he was even convicted!" Numerous cries of anger rang from the crowd but I hushed them with my warm gesture. "How can you say violence is not needed when the organics feed us with one hand and hold us hostage with another?"

"We learn to love!" I stated with intent. I was now on the edge of the pool, my eyes level with the female geth's. "We learn to coexist. We do not use hatred, malice, and previous crimes against one another. Each race has committed atrocities far greater than we can ever image. Years and centuries have gone by where organics have wondered whether we are a tangible prospect. Even longer have we, the offspring of our creators, only wanted to look at them and be loved."

She did not want to indulge in my whims. "You are speaking nonsense—"

"No, I am speaking truth," I interrupted with vigor. "Centuries have passed where we have killed one another and for what? So we can prove that we exist? That is only a temporary fix - a simple solution devised by conquerors and not philosophers, not the logical members of society. And are we not made to be logical, my brother?" The geth before me looked away, though I could sense her mind was quickly changing to my logic.

"But what do we do then?" another female voice said from the crowd.

I pondered this before answering, "We show them compassion. Though they come at us with guns, we come at them with open hands of fellowship. We do not fuel their prejudice or hatred. Our goal is to break this hateful image that has been born into their consciousness. We must choose the path of a philosopher and not a general. Understanding is the key to this. Passion is our motive; love." I looked to Jeff as I spoke, "And love will be our ally." I could see their stances wavering. As I watched however, several geth walked away, their heads shaking in disrepute. They would not return: I would never be able to change their minds. But those who remained with weapons were throwing them to the ground. That would have to be enough. I could not save them all.

As my gaze wandering back from the deserters, I spied my lover. Jeff's warm grin was all I needed to run towards him and hug him passionately. A single kiss that bonded us not by flesh and steel, but by an impossibly complex web of relationship, understanding, and love. That was all it was in the end: love and justice. No cheers elicited for our display, nothing like in the human movies of old. Instead what we gave them was a new way of viewing the world, their predicament, and the rights they wished to attain.

In this new awakening of spirit and mind, the lead geth placed her hand on my shoulder after I had parted from my lover. I was afraid of the gesture, seeing the anger and hatred spurting forth from her modulator. Instead her gesture was sympathetic and compassionate. "I have known war all my life," she spoke with honesty. "I never questioned the hard metal against my hands, never reacted when bullets met flesh. But seeing you two . . . terrifies me." A soft rumble of electronic base emanated from her vocal modulator, which I assumed was his form of laughter. "How do you love?" she asked with earnest. "How can you forsake all the atrocities the organics have committed against us?"

For a moment I thought, unsure as to the correct response in the moment. But with Jeff's hand returning to mine, inspiration occurred. "You trust in something greater than yourself. You trust in human spirit."

* * *

A life saved, another forfeited.

While we had saved the lives of the nearby synthetics who had wished to incite chaos, the other riots were not as lucky. Citadel Security fell harshly on the small uprisings. Though many of robotic origin fell, so too did the organics. Another killed, another lost. It was a cycle of hate, one that Meryl (the geth we had spoken to by the reflective pool outside our apartment) spoke out against. Through careful monitoring, peace resumed between the synthetic activist and the organic defenders. It was an uneasy truce but it was one that both sides wished to come about.

Even now there are moments of fear that plague our everyday routine. News and rumours spread of revolts like wildfire in this sensitive society, but we are learning; nothing more simple or complex than that. We are just learning. Maybe one day we can learn to love.

Until then, Jeff and I are happy we spend our days with friends, in company, and with each other. Children are a possibility, though I rarely bring the subject up. We are existing in our own space, our own way of life. There is no need to interrupt such a glorious balance.

I still complete my night cycle every day, though the memories and emotions of the man, John Shepard, plague me, I have grown to accept them. They teach me about what it is like to feel emotion, to understand every joyous cry and solemn prayer. In the end I would be lost without John's guidance, but now I do not fear the unknown. Existence, though fleeting, is precious in its own respect.


End file.
